December 5, 2002
Smelly Cat
To the tune of "Smelly Cat" à la Phoebe Bouffay
Little Man, Little Man, why must you bother me?
Little Man, Little Man, go the hell away.
He's back. And so is our neighbor. Ms. Spider decided on a change of view. Apparently her condo with the northern exposure was too grandiose for her, so she went out for a while, came back in a bit, and remodeled to form a spartan efficiency that faces the setting sun. She's closer to the door, now, too. She looks happier for it. (Listen to me personifying a spider. Next thing you know I'll be calling the damn thing Charlotte.) This evening, I saw that she had caught herself a big, juicy fly. The thing was huge, and she was sucking the lifeblood from it.
Just like The (Little) Man is doing to me. I worked my bum off today, so I didn't have time to be grateful for anything. I thought I would drop by now and say hi before going to beddie-bye.
Hi, and sweet dreams.
